


Delicious

by tokenMWM



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Anthology, Cute, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Eating, Fluff, Food, M/M, One Shot, Romance, Short, Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokenMWM/pseuds/tokenMWM
Summary: They say that food is the best way to a man’s heart. Well, Cyrus and TJ already have each others hearts. But that doesn’t mean that food can’t still be important. And fun. And delicious.





	1. Pancakes

It started with a breakfast date—The Spoon was now open for brunch on weekends in an attempt to draw that Millennial-day-drunk crowd—one that Cyrus had insisted would be fun. Would be a great way to start their Sunday together. Definitely wouldn’t leave TJ feeling like he was falling asleep at the table.

“What can I get you boys?” The waiter sounded almost as tired as TJ felt, pen readied over paper despite the bloodshot eyes and almost yawn.

“Coffee.” The word tripped out of TJ’s lips before his forehead was even off the table. A quick look from the boy on the other side of the napkin dispenser reminded the older teen of his manners just in time to keep himself from looking like a jackass. “Please—Coffee, please.”

“And I would like a stack of your finest buttermilk pancakes with a side of baby taters—er... tater tots, please.”

“Deep fryer’s not on yet, kid. We got hashbrowns. Home fries. Bacon and sausage if you want some protein.”

“Oh...” Even in his sleep deprived, food deprived, caffeine deprived state, TJ hated hearing the disappointment in his boyfriend’s voice. Especially when there was nothing he could do to fix it.

“Bacon sounds good,” The older teen offers. He knows the Cyrus, as adorably energetic as he is, might take days to choose a different option. And besides, the mention of his favorite breakfast food set TJ’s stomach rumbling in a way it had been too sleepy to do until that very moment.

Cyrus nods happily, and the waiter notes it down. “Stack of pancakes, side of bacon, and two coffees—“

“One coffee!” TJ corrects. He’ll need a lot more energy than diner-coffee can provide to be able to keep up with a caffeinated-Cyrus.

With the coffee quickly delivered and the promise of bacon not far away, the morning starts to pick up. They talk about their plans, they talk about TJ’s upcoming math test, but mostly they talk about nothing. About the R-rated movie TJ is trying to convince his boyfriend to sneak into. About whether tea or hot cocoa is better at warming the soul on a rainy day. Never in words quite so poetic, but the smile on Cyrus’s lips is all the poetry TJ knows how to deal with, anyway—especially when the hours are still in the single digits.

The conversation only lulls when the plates are brought out—a sizzling handful of bacon for him, a tall stack of golden-brown deliciousness for the cutest boy in the world. Perfect. He doesn’t mean for the silence to stay long, but as he looks up from his breakfast, TJ catches the most amusing sight he’s ever seen and his words get stuck in his throat.

His boyfriend is carefully unwrapping a pat of butter, delicate enough to keep it off his fingers before he grabs a knife and cuts it in half. With deliberate precision and complete focus—a chewed on lip and distinct lack of talking betray the importance of the task—Cyrus applies the butter over the top of the pancake, watching it melt into the griddle-fried surface with a careful eye. Then, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, he reaches out, picks the cake up from the top of the stack, and flips it over. All before repeating with the other half of the butter.

And then it repeats again, one pat for every cake in the stack, each one shuffled to the bottom only once it’s drenched in sweet-cream goodness to his boyfriend’s specifications. The entire stack buttered without a word and Cyrus doesn’t even seem to have noticed the time passing.

TJ finds the whole ritual strangely enthralling.

Then the fork comes out—driven into the stack just off center so the knife can slice the softened pancakes in half, in quarters, in eighths. Only then is the syrup applied, way more than TJ expected. Maybe because there are no parents around to stop him from starting the day with a sugar rush. Maybe that’s just the way he always does it—clearly this has all been practiced many times before.

“What are you staring at?” His boyfriends voice is innocent, breaking him out of his reverie. Soft hands set down the syrup—it’s half empty but started the meal all the way full; maybe TJ should consider a third mug of coffee after all—as Cyrus gives him a questioning look.

“Just at you,” TJ smiles, shakes his head, and returns to his bacon.

“What?” And now TJ sees the smile, the one Cyrus is hiding behind his fake offended look.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” TJ teases.

“It tastes better this way.”

“Is that so?” TJ asks, feeling suddenly more awake as Cyrus’s bright-as-the-sun grin finally breaks through.

“Absolutely.”

“Sweet,” TJ smirks, grabbing a fork and stealing a slice before his boyfriend has a chance to respond. “Then you won’t mind sharing.”


	2. Popcorn

“Can we get popcorn?”

The question bubbles out of TJ’s lips the second the two of them get past the old man at the ticket check—just like it has before every single movie they’ve ever seen together in a theater.

And at this point, that’s quite a lot of movies.

As he learned to do long ago, Cyrus says yes. He always says yes. As if he was in any position to actually tell him ‘no.’ 

Have you ever tried to keep TJ Kippen away from food?

Actually, though, Cyrus did refuse him once. Early on. A series of improbable, unpredictable, ridiculous events had seen them drenched by rain and buying their tickets a full ten minutes after the movie was scheduled to start. Even still, as the two of them sprinted into the over air-conditioned lobby, TJ skidded to a halt with the question on his lips. The hopeful look in his eye. And Cyrus still counts the fact that said ‘no’ among his top ten ‘I’m a horrible boyfriend’ moments.

The pouting.

Oh god, the pouting.

He’d deflated, the smile wiped off his face with one little word. Cyrus was too much in a rush to notice at the time, but as he dragged his boyfriend to find the last two seats in the crowded theater, TJ had barely said a word—eyes downcast and shoulders slumped as they caught the last ten second of the last preview.

That movie was unusually quiet that day. That’s what made Cyrus realize his mistake—movies with TJ were never quiet. But no matter what happened on the screen, the teen beside him was silent. There were no under-the-breath remarks trying to make him giggle. No snorting laughter at the best of the jokes. No muted squealing from his own throat, because TJ didn’t try to pull him onto his lap during the kissing scene.

All the obnoxious behavior that Cyrus always claimed to hate—because it was rude to the rest of the audience!—was missing.

Even TJ’s hand in his lacked the energetic squeezes during the action scenes.

It was absolutely horrible.

And it was all because of some popcorn—or, to be more specific, the lack there of. 

So when the old man—whose slowly hissing oxygen tank looks... precarious at best—points with a shaky hand towards theater number seven, and TJ turns to him with that hopeful, child-like look on his face.

He doesn’t questions why.

He doesn’t stop to check the time.

And he certainly never suggests a different treat.

Instead, Cyrus grins at the thought of his boyfriend being so happy because of something so small, rolls his eyes, and nods.

“Of course, babe. We can get some popcorn.”


	3. Peaches

It's not that Cyrus doesn't like peaches. In fact, he adores them. Only worth eating one or two months out of the year, soft, yellow-orange, perfectly-snack-sized peaches are one of his favorite fruits. If only they lived in the right climate for it, he'd have convinced his parents to plant a peach tree in their back yard years ago. Both houses, if possible. 

They're tangy, and sweet, and oh so deliciously juicy.

And that's exactly the problem.

If a peach is worth eating, there's just no possible way to devour like it deserves without making a mess.

And if there was one thing that was not acceptable at the Goodman houses, it was a mess.

Too many shirts forced off his shoulders and into the wash by parents that refused to accept even the slightest stain of yellow sweetness. Too many cold wet rags dragged over his face after every bite just to make sure there was no sticky mess. Too often was he scolded for the single drop of delicious nectar that escaped from his lips to land on the white marble counter.

It's easier just to avoid the peach in the first place.

He's tried holding it in a paper towel, hoping to capture the juices before they escape to stain a shirt or fall to the floor, but that only ended with a mouthful of paper when he stopped paying attention, distracted by something Buffy was saying about the movie they were about to watch.

Andi's mom taught him to eat it over the sink, but that just ruined the fun of the peach. Who wants to eat a fruit they can only have in one specific location in the house? Why relegate yourself to such a fate when eating a peach under the warm summer sun as the breeze blows through your hair is the closest thing he can image to a paradise? 

It felt wrong to limit the peach like that

So he avoids peaches. Most of the time.

But sometimes he just can't resist.

Like on a picnic, with his friends, when his boyfriend pulls out a whole bag of the things with a smile on his face like he knows he did something good.

Cyrus tries not to make a mess. He tries to stick with small bites, tries to keep his composure in front of his friends—in front of his boyfriend—but after two bites that plan is summarily forgotten. Before TJ has even finished handing out the fruits to the rest of the crew, Cyrus is left with nothing but the pit, a smile, and a trail of orange stickiness all down his chin.

And then he can feel them. The stares. The judgment. He knows he's just made a fool of himself, but he can't help it. It's his curse! His favorite fruit in the world and he can't eat one without feeling like an idiot. 

"Hey, Underdog." TJ's voice snaps him out of his anxious train of thought. “You've got a little something..."

And before Cyrus can look away in shame, TJ's leaning down, pulling Cyrus by the shirt collar into a kiss that leaves the boy breathless. It's always like that when TJ kisses him—especially if there's tongue involved, which he's only just recently gotten used to—but especially this time, as he feels TJ's tongue dart out to dance across his lips before diving between them and pressing into him with a much more affectionate public-display-of-affection than he would normally allow.

When TJ pulls back, Cyrus's face is covered with a blush in addition to the sticky sweet peach juice. His friends are snickering behind their own mouthfuls of fruit and sandwiches and cheese, but Cyrus can only stare at the smirk on TJ's lips, the far off look of contentment in his eyes, and be utterly speechless. 

"I love peaches," TJ mutters, licking his lips as he finally looks down to meet Cyrus's stare.

Feeling the blood rushing around his body, pounding in his ears, Cyrus just nods in agreement. Then, not dropping their stare, he reaches out, grabs another fuzzy red-orange fruit from the bag, brings it to his still-tingling lips, and takes a bite.


	4. Pretzels

It’s the experience of seeing a familiar act in an unfamiliar place. That’s what does it.

How many times has he watched TJ approach him, wide smile, soft eyes, with a treat in hand for both of them to share? How many times has he looked up from his phone just in time to catch his boyfriend’s stare? How often has he ended up feeling like they’re the only two people on a crowded street, in a packed theater, in a secluded hideaway?

He should be used to it by now. He thought he was used to it. But it’s different this time.

For one, they’re not in Shadyside anymore. The pretzel TJ is holding—light on salt with spicy mustard—is from a street cart, the kind Shadyside is too small to have. And the people milling between them as TJ gently pushes past an older woman are not the crowds that always fill in the background at The Spoon, at Grant, at the park.

Because they’re in New York. And that makes everything feel... different.

It’s the way the people rush by. The way the backdrop of buildings is unfamiliar even if it’s recognizable. It’s the way traffic moves so differently than back home. It takes away the safety of the mundane, forcing Cyrus to pay attention—actually pay attention—to everything going on around him.

And inside him.

He’s seen an ambulance drive by a million times but this one, when the lights flash and the sirens wail their warning, feels almost alien.

He’s watched TJ fall onto a bench beside him and immediately offer the first bite of their soon-to-be-shared treat more times than he can count. But this time it makes his heart flutter. Makes his mind thrill and his face flush.

And maybe it’s everything else. The fact that they’re here, on the other side of the country, to help him make a decision. The decision.

_Columbia and Yale? Underdog, I’m so fucking proud of you!_

Or maybe it’s the fact that his parents have spent the week being surprisingly respectful of his impending adulthood. Letting the two of them go off on their own. Letting them have their own hotel room—right beside theirs and with two beds, of course—and not even trying to enforce a curfew.

Or maybe it’s none of those things. Maybe it’s just the slightly-off sound of the police sirens and unusually fast moving crowd. The way the bench creaks as TJ leans over with the pretzel that smells both delicious and... authentic.

Or maybe it’s just TJ.

“Here you go, babe. Can’t visit New York without trying an honest-to-goodness street cart pretzel, y’know?”

“Thank you! Wow, I never knew walking could make me so ravenous.”

“No problem,” TJ grins, tearing a chunk off for himself, unable to take his eyes off his still blushing boyfriend.

The pretzel is salty, but not overwhelming. A chewy crust with a hint of a crunch at the ends, and with mustard so hot it almost makes him want to cry.

It’s delicious.

It’s perfectly unfamiliar.

It’s perfect.

It’s the experience of such a familiar thing happening in such an unfamiliar place. That’s what makes him realize. Figure out why his heart is doing those acrobatics it hasn’t done since he was fifteen.

“Hey, TJ?”

“Yeah, Cy?”

“I love you.”

It’s the feel of TJ’s hand in his, the familiar squeeze, the familiar warmth, the unfamiliar surroundings. The taste of salt and bread and heat still lingering on his tongue long after he’s used to. The unfamiliar words used to express an oh-so-familiar sentiment.

“Hey, Cyrus?”

“Yeah, Theo?”

“I love you, too.”


End file.
